


The Domestic Adventures of Morrigan and Elias Cousland

by TheViperQueen



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Gen, how does one 'write?', multi-warden-verse is best 'verse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-29
Updated: 2018-01-17
Packaged: 2018-03-09 04:18:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3235970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheViperQueen/pseuds/TheViperQueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So these are just going to be little slice-of-life snippets between Morrigan, Elias, and babby Kieran. Updated when... well whenever inspiration strikes.</p><p>Next Up: Somebody Here Smells Like a Rat...errr...Mouse...<br/>In which the Wardens aren't down to clown with the Orlesians and Morrigan plays a one-sided game of hide and seek.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. What's a little bake-off between lovers?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rabbitheartbeats](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rabbitheartbeats/gifts).



> I really encourage you all to check out the work of the amazing author I'm gifting this to, I promise you will not be disappointed. Without her this thing wouldn't even exist lol...

“Elias, my love, what _are_ you doing?”

The man in question looks up from the bowl with an expression that says that his task should be obvious. “Making cookies,” he says before going back to mixing the (incredibly dry- Maker’s breath, is it _supposed_ to be this dry?) dough.

“Mm-hmm… Why? Did you lose a bet? Or is this another one of your pranks?” When all she receives is a glare Morrigan gasps. “Don’t tell me you’re _actually_ trying to bake something fit for human consumption.”

“My cooking’s not _that_ -”

“Need I remind you of the hare incident?”

“-bad,” he finished lamely. “And as far as the whole rabbit thing, that was just a fluke. I mean, really nobody can be _that_ bad at cooking. It just doesn’t seem humanly possible. Besides I’m armed with a recipe this time. This should be foolproof.”

Morrigan makes a noncommittal noise as she comes to lean against the counter next to him. She doesn’t say anything, but he can feel her stare boring into the side of his skull. He ignores the thinly veiled mirth that dances behind her cat eyes in favor of trying to work flour into a batter that he’s fairly certain should be holding together and not crumbling like clumped sand. A few moments go by before her judging gaze can no longer be abided by. “Something on your mind, dear heart?” he asks.

To anyone else his tone would’ve sounded conversational, but the mage has memorized every minute nuance of his tone and speech. The man is very frustrated. She allows the smile that tugs at her lips to form. “Nothing at all. I’m just-” she barely holds back a snicker as he continues to futilely work at the bowl’s contents “admiring your technique.” The only thing drier than the ‘I’m sure’ she receives is the poor, overworked dough.

“This is useless,” the Warden concedes after a moment. “There’s no fucking way all of that flour’s getting mixed in.” His final sentence is more of declaration as he slams the bowl on the counter.

She takes this chance to peer at the dough more closely. Majority of the flour lay in clumps from where it has combined with whatever fat he’s used, though a decent amount of it lay in its powdered form in the hollow that his vigorous stirring has created. A closer inspection shows that there’s sugar in there too. _Oh for the love of all that is holy- did he just dump it all in and start stirring?_ “Where, pray tell, did you get this recipe from?”

“Cela. Though I think she may’ve had me on,” he says as he glares at the bowl. Morrigan has no doubt that if the man was a mage the thing would be incased in flames by now.

“Maybe she has,” she says as the dough crumbles further under her experimental poke. “Come then, tell me what she told you.” Given the constant pranks that seemed to go on between Elias and the kitchen staff Morrigan wouldn’t be surprised if the woman did give him a bad recipe.

“Let’s see, ehhh- butter, sugar, flour, eg-” he stares at the bowl blankly for a second before his eyes light up. “I forgot the bloody eggs!” He laughs even as his lover rolls her eyes at him. “Ahh, that explains so much! Probably. Hey, you think I could just dump one in there now or- ?” 

When the only response he receives is a look that says ‘you’re an idiot’ he shrugs. “I’m just going to dump it in and see what happens.”

“Why the sudden interest in baking?” she asks as he clumsily cracks an egg against the side of the bowl. She can’t help the slight grimace that wrinkles her nose as she watches him fish out pieces of shell from the batter.

“Well our darling baby boy said he wanted something sweet so…”

Morrigan shakes her head with the sort of vehemence that only a mother can conjure. “No, no, _no_. You are _not_ feeding that- that _culinary monstrosity_ to my child.”

“ _Our_ child,” he corrects with an arch of his eyebrow “and what’s wrong with my cookies?”

“Besides the fact that there’s egg shell in it?”

“I picked them out!”

“You’ve already overworked the dough so they are going to come out tough. This is to say nothing of your measuring skills.”

“There is absolutely nothing wrong with my ability to measure compounds. I make my own bombs, for Maker’s sake!”

“‘tis true, and I’ve see you lose a many an eyebrow to the cause.”

“Yes, well…” He clears his throat earning a smirk from his lover.

“ _Mm-hmm._ ” Morrigan braces herself against his arm as she stretches up onto the tips of her toes to place a kiss on the corner of his jaw. The annoyed sound she receives is negated by the way he leans into her warmth. When she finally pulls away she turns and heads for the door.

Just as Elias starts to revel in the small victory that ~~_she’s granted him_~~ he’s won the sound of metal scraping against metal catches his ear. His head snaps over in search of the sound’s source only to find Morrigan pulling a bowl very similar to the one he is holding from under a cabinet. “What are you doing?” he asks despite the fact that he has a pretty decent idea of what is going on.

“Making our son some cookies,” she states as she brushes past him. “Now where do they keep the mixing spoons. Ah.” She places both the oversized utensil and the bowl onto the counter next to him before starting in on ingredients.

“But I’m making him cookies.”

“No, you’re making him stones.”

He let his head fall backwards. “ _Morrigan_ -” Not even the Landsmeet had been this taxing.

“Don’t ‘ _Morrigan_ ’ me. Kieran is used to eating food of a certain quality. Eating something that deviates from said quality will surely give him a stomach ache.”

“A stomach ache will help him build character.”

She looked up at him with wide topaz eyes that quickly narrowed into slits. “Wha- it will do no such thing!”

“You told Alistair that multiple times!”

“That’s because Alistair insists on behaving like a sniveling child over the least bit of discomfort.”

“He had food poisoning! Twice, actually, now that I think about it. Probably should’ve taken Oghren off of cooking duty sooner…”

She made a dismissive gesture with her hand. “Details, details.” Elias continues to eye her as she measures out her sugar on a scale. “I know you’ve never seen somebody actually do a proper weighing, but shouldn’t you be attending to your own dough?” she asks, her eyes never once leaving the minuscule crystals.

“Har-har.” Starts to mix the batter again before deciding that _maybe_ it had enough. “So, not going to set the bowl on fire or anything?” he casually enquires as he scoops a portion of dough into his hand and begins to roll it into a ball.

She snorts. “Please. Between you and the oven those things are bound to go up in flame so why waste the mana?”

He lets out a bark of laughter at that. “You wound me!”

“Please,” she laughs as she begins to cream her butter and sugar together. “We both know that it takes a lot more than mocking your cooking prowess to land a blow on that ego of yours.”

He concedes the point before they lapse into an easy silence. Elias rolls out the rest of his batter into cookies while Morrigan continues to combine her carefully measured ingredients into a dough into that looks much more cohesive than his ever did.

“Wait a moment, what is that that you just put in?” he asks when she scrapes the insides of something that sort of resembles a shriveled black green bean into her bowl.

“What does it smell like, love?”

He leans down and gives the batter a sniff. “Vanilla?” He looks between their two bowls a few times before letting his head sag. “Maker, my cookies are so fucked, aren’t they?”

By the time Elias places his _things_ (he can’t bring himself to call them cookies anymore, not in the face of Morrigan’s creations) she’s just beginning to roll hers out. He watches as she rolls the dough into balls before pressing them out on the baking sheet in much the same way he did. “Well at least I got that bit right. Guess even a blind squirrel finds a nut every once in a while, eh?”

She chuckles. “Indeed.”

Her hands move with a quick efficiency and within minutes she’s finished her work. “I’ll take that to the oven for you,” he says as he starts to reach for the tray.

“No need.” He can feel the energy in the room every so slightly shift as the tray seems to lift away from the counter by itself. Morrigan does something mage-y with her hands as she mumbles something under her breath and- _sweet Andraste’s grace, she was actually baking the cookies. With magic._ The heat he could feel coming from the sheet was a soothing one and only his sense of self-preservation kept him from reaching out in search of the invisible corona that had to be surrounding it.

“Nobody likes a show off,” Elias says even as he looks on in awe.

“Clearly we both do or we’d never have gotten together,” she laughs. “And honestly this is more for the cookies’ sake than yours.”

“Un-huh.”

“Truly. I find oven to be a bit too unpredictable for my tastes. My magic I can control, fire- well I can control that too I suppose, but this is much easier.”

“Oh, well, _of course_ ,” he gives back, tone wry. “So that burning smell,” he starts after a moment “That’s, uhh, that’s not coming from your cookies, is it?”

The woman snorts.

“Well shit.”


	2. Someone Here Smells Like a Rat...errr...Mouse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So long time no update ~~understatement of the century right there lol~~. I’ve got no real excuse besides a lack of inspiration :/ But I’m back now, so let’s shake off the cobwebs and get started! This chapter includes some bits and bobs about my other Wardens (because multi-Warden-verse is best ‘verse). I kinda got a little carried away with it tbh, but I just love them all so much. But I’m rambling now so I’m just gonna stop and let you get on with it…

When Morrigan wakes that morning she knows something is different. Thanks to the ring she gave him all those years ago she’s always able to sense her lover’s presence with little more than a brush of her mind. Usually Elias’s duty as Warden-Commander has him off slaying darkspawn in some remote corner of Thedas or, as the case more often is as of late, trying to rebuild the Order's numbers. Both tasks usually keeps him far away from Orlais, and further still from its capital, so when she pulls at the connection that binds them she’s more than a little shocked to find him not only within the city's limits but in the royal palace itself. She can’t help the startled gasp that escapes her lips any more than she can stop the wave of playful annoyance that rolls through her at not having felt his presence sooner. It should not have been possible for him to keep his impending arrival a surprise, unless of course he had Avra masking his movements.

Whatever magic had touched the elf in that cave so long ago had slowly been twisting her magic into something that hadn't been seen in any recorded Age. In the time since the Blight Avra’s command over the forces of the Fade have become more, for a lack of a better word, _primal_. Winds like that of a hurricane tore into her enemies when they didn’t crush them outright, and that was to say nothing of the intricate enchantments and hexes she could weave. Some said that her mastery and knowledge was gained from communing with Dirthamen during her walks through the Fade. As much as Morrigan wants to write the notion off as foolish something inside of her keeps her from dismissing the thought completely. Echoes of ancient things could be found beyond the Veil if one dared to look, and if the right things were invoked, they might even seek you out. Her child is living proof of that.

As if summoned by the brief thought the boy bounds through the door that connects her room to their small study. “Mother! Mother! Did you not hear the horns?” he asks with the sort of enthusiasm that only a seven year old can muster. “The Wardens have come to visit the Court! Is Father with them? Can you feel him? Do you think he brought Avra with him? Do you think she rode a halla here?” He flings his questions at her as he scrambles up into her bed.

She lets out a little laugh as the boy crawls into her outstretched arms still going on about the horned creature. “Take a breath, little man,” she says before he can start in on the lore that surrounds the beast. “Yes, your father is here, and yes he did bring Mahariel with him. As for her riding in on a halla, that’s highly unlikely.”

“But the ancient elves used to use them as mounts and she’s just as–”

“ _She_ wouldn’t much appreciate your referring to her as ‘ancient’, my dear,” the woman cuts in, laughter coloring her words.

“But her blood is old, much older than that of any other elf I’ve ever met! If anyone would ride a halla it would be her.”

His words makes her gut tighten. Morrigan has never been able to truly forget about the thing that resides in her child’s body, but on most days she’s content to overlook it. On the outside he seems like any other boy his age, if a bit more intellectual, but she knows that the Old God’s spirit is there slinking about right at the edges of his consciousness. And the older he gets, the more apparent it becomes. The things he talks about, the intimate knowledge he has of the Ancient years, the dreams of some old thing calling out to him… Regret claws at her insides every time she thinks about the ritual that bound Urthemiel’s soul to his, but can she ever truly regret the very thing that gave her such a sweet, loving, and perfect boy as Kieran?

Before the troubling thoughts can manifest themselves in the set of her features she pulls the child in closer to her side. “Well I suppose anything is possible, but I wouldn’t set my hopes too high.” Kieran smiles up at her, the large brown eyes that mark him as a Cousland dancing with excitement. She returns the sentiment before running a hand through his already sleep-mussed hair. “I still have a few reports to look over for the Empress and _you_ still have studies to tend to so we’d best get our day started.”

“But _Mother_ , do I _really_ have to study today?”

“Yes dear, you do. And no amount of pouting is going to change that.” When the child continues to give her a look that is far too similar to that damned Mabari’s for her liking she adds, “The sooner we tend to our duties the sooner we can see him. You don’t want to keep your father waiting, do you?”

Morrigan’s quite chuckles chase after the boy as he wiggles out of her grasp and darts back to his chambers.

-x-x-x-

Elias has to resist the urge to sigh as he listens to the Empress drone pleasantries at him in her not-so-pleasant accent. Growing up as the son of a Teyrn has seen him standing at his father’s elbow—back stiff and amicable smile in place—while people spoke with the older man about matters both domestic and militant more times than he cares to remember. When he became a Warden-Commander the situation was much the same with the only difference being that people now looked to _him_ for help and guidance. He’s been groomed for a roll such as this nearly from birth, but that doesn’t mean that he enjoys any of it. The sound of plates shifting over mail and creaking leather that comes from behind him tells him that his compatriots share his sentiments. Being the eldest son of an Arl, Nathaniel is probably holding his own just as well as Elias, but Taran had most likely stopped paying attention long ago. Unfortunately for Avra she does not have training to fall back on nor is her station (or her height for that matter) minor enough for her to hide in the Hero of Ferelden’s shadow.

Though it’s Elias’s and Alistar’s names on everyone’s lips, they all still know of the other two Wardens that saved Thedas from the Fifth Blight. Taran Brosca and Avra Mahariel are just as well known, if not as highly regarded. Elias gave the former charge over Ferelden’s Wardens so she spends much of her time there, but given that Avra is his second in command she often goes wherever he does. Most days this isn’t a problem, but when a situation favors decorum over force he can tell that she finds the position deplorable.

Mahariel’s never been the best at schooling her expression, so when Elias chances a look over at her he’s not surprised by what he sees. Her thin lips are pulled back in what she probably thinks is a smile, but is really closer to a pained grimace. The vallaslin that usually curves and arcs along her sun-tarnished skin so gracefully now only serves to accentuate the determined set of her jaw and brow. He can see her right arm flexing rhythmically under the light armor that she still insists on wearing and he knows if he were to look behind her he would see that fist clenching from where her left hand holds it in a death grip at the small of her back. Elias knows that the woman holds no love for royalty, but she’s as distressed as he’s ever seen her. It isn’t until he registers the word ‘feast’ amongst the Empress’s inane prattle that he realizes why. He quickly runs over the last few lines of dialogue in a desperate attempt to find out just where a feast fits in.

“Festivities aren’t really required for recruitment, Empress.” His second, Maker bless her, has apparently been following the conversation better than he. And she wonders why he never conducts business without her.

At the delicate arch of Celene’s brow the elf quickly amends her previous statement with, “Which is to say there is no reason to trouble yourself on our account. I’m sure that the tourney you’re planning will be more than adequate enough.” Her phrasing leaves something to be desired and she knows it. The grimace is firmly back in place and this time he’s pretty sure that she’s not even trying to hide it.

For her part the Empress brushes over the faux pas with all of the grace befitting of her station. “It is no trouble at all I assure you, my dear Warden. Festivities are what we do here. Now,” she claps her hands just loudly enough to say that she will allow no further protests, “I’m sure that you are all longing for the embrace of a proper bed. Go, rest, and enjoy the hospitalities of Orlais.”

“Thank you Empress, we shall,” Elias says with a respectful nod of his head. The other three mimic their leader’s movement before turning in unison and following him out.

Once in the privacy of their quarters the group seems to breathe a collective sigh of relief. The Warden-Commander looks on in mild amusement as each person seeks comfort in the room’s ornate dressings. Nathaniel seems to drift off as soon as his body hits the plush cushioning while Brosca is intent on stripping down to her linens. Only Avra is still visibly tense; as she sits with her elbows braced on her knees she bites mercilessly at her bottom lip and glares at some unseen thing in the distance.

“Something on your mind, Mahariel?” Elias asks as he begins to attend to his own armor.

“We came here to recruit people not to attend some damned ball–”

“It’s a _feast_ , not a ball,” Nate corrects. He earns a pillow to the face for his trouble.

“Well whatever it is, I did not sign up for this shit! _Creator-damned Orlesians._ Always looking for any excuse to throw a party.” The final half of her miniature rant is muttered to the lavishly painted ceiling as she finally gives in and sprawls backwards into her seat.

“And I’m not mad at ‘em,” Brosca says from where she’s stretched out on a couch. “I’ll gladly revel in all of the pomp that the Empress insists on showering us with.”

Irritation colors Avra’s expression as she gives the woman a confused look. “How can you even enjoy it? They may have love for them,” she gestures towards the men, “but they look down on us. It doesn’t matter that we slew that _fenedhis_ dragon and kept the darkspawn at bay; all we’ll ever be to them are second-class citizens, barely even fit to scrub their chamber pots.”

“And that, my dear elf, is what makes it so great!” Taran declares as she tosses her hands into the air. “If we were anyone but who we are we’d never get to see the inside of hoity-toity places like this, but since we did kill that ‘fen-end-dis’–”

“Please refrain from butchering my language.”

“–dragon not only do they have to let us in, they have to treat us with respect. Back when I was still a duster the only time I’d ever even lay eyes on a noble is when I’d escort my sister up to see that rich axe wound she was bumpin’ uglies with.”

“A charming mental picture, that,” Nate comments with a laugh and a slight shudder.

“Now don’t get me wrong, Bhelen is a looker, but he’s got a stick rammed so far up his arse that it’d take ten golems to remove it, but back to my point. Then I wasn’t even allowed within ten feet of the gate to the Diamond Quarter, but now I’m rubbing elbows with the Queen of Orlais, I’m head of my own sect of Wardens, and I’ve made out with the bastard King of Ferelden.”

Elias lets out a bark of laughter at that. “You’re never going to let Alistar live that down, are you?”

The dwarf cocks an eyebrow at him as she props herself up on her elbows. “What, that he’s a bastard or that I had my tongue so far down his throat that I was able to taste what he had for supper?” That earns a burst of hardy laughter from everyone.

“He-he looked so _violated_ ,” Avra manages between laughs.

“Violated, yet intrigued,” their leader amends. “How long was it before he finally looked you in the eye again?”

“A good week, at least.” A satisfied smirk pulls at the woman’s lips as she stretches out once more. “I doubt that he’s ever told his Queenie-poo about that, but I like to believe it’s why she glares at me whenever she sees me.”

Nate snorts. “I think that may have more to do with you trying to make off with her broaches.”

“Please, she had over half a dozen that I saw. You’d think she could spare a few for the cause.”

“They belonged to her late mother!”

“I can’t believe that that woman had the nerve to accuse _me_ of that! If something goes missing it had to have been the thieving knife-ear. It _couldn’t possibly_ be the _rogue dwarf_ with a penchant for kleptomania. Damned shems are all the same–”

It’s clear that Avra’s gearing up for another rant, much to the dread of everyone in the room. Before she can gather up a full head of mad Eli is slipping out the suite and into the corridor beyond.

x-x-x

“I’ve finished all of my assignments Mother! It is all done and it is all correct! Tell her it’s correct Dylan!”

The aging man chuckles as Morrigan takes the papers that her child is shoving into her face. “I can assure you that it is indeed all correct, Madame Advisor.”

“Have you finished your work too, Mother? Is Father close? Shall we–”

“Take a breath, darling,” she says as she places steadying hands on his shoulders. The boy is so excited at the prospect of seeing his father that he’s practically vibrating under her touch. “The answer to both of your questions is yes. A courier should be arriving shortly to pick up my reports and I’m sure that your father will be here soon.”

“How soon is ‘soon’?” he asks as he braces himself against her legs and leans forward. She’s not sure what he wishes to accomplish in doing this. It’s not as if he can peer into her mind a pluck out the answer.

…At least she doesn’t _think_ he can.

She pushes the troubling thought away with a hard blink. “ _Soon_ is _soon_.” Said as she taps at a nose that has wrinkled up in annoyance. Before the boy can protest further someone is knocking at the door to her chambers.

“That must be the courier! Or maybe Father?”

As she gathers up the papers marked with her seal she reaches out for her love once more. She expects to feel his presence immediately so she’s somewhat confused when it seems as if he’s further away than he was when she checked not even five minutes ago. “It’s the former, I’m afraid,” Morrigan says with a bit of a sigh as she starts for the door. As she hands the ridiculously plumed man on the other side the parcels she asks, “Have you by chance seen the Warden-Commander?”

The courier nods. “Indeed. He was headed in this direction, but another courier waylaid him. It seemed as if he’d been summoned, though by who I couldn’t say, Madame Advisor.”

“I see.” She thanks the man for the information and after bowing he hurries off. The Witch closes the door behind him before running one manicured nail over plum lacquered lips as she thinks. There’s only one person with enough clout to keep Elias away from his family. “Dylan, would you mind watching Kieran for me? I’ve a most unexpected meeting with Her Highness.”

-x-x-x-

Elias moves through the halls of the Imperial Palace like a man on a mission. His lips have formed a taut line and his brow is set, the key features of what his father once called the _‘your folly is neither wanted nor will it be tolerated’_ look. He knows that he must make for a rather peculiar sight, but he can hardly bring himself to care, not when the two people that he loves the most are—well they’re an entire palace away, but that’s a fact that his long legs are working hard at rectifying.

The _click-clacking_ of his boots against the polished marble floor is almost as satisfying as watching servants and nobles alike make way for him. The way that their hails seem to physically crawl back behind their teeth to the safety of their throats is humorous, but he bites back on his smirk; even the slightest show of amusement could be seen as an invitation to initiate conversation and that’s the last possible thing he desires. As he continues to make his way to Morrigan’s chambers he almost feels as if he’s in some sort of waking dream, what with the way the perfumed corridors seem to stretch on endlessly. He’s been walking for a good ten minutes now and he still has a ways to go yet…

“Ser!”

_Don’t turn around Elias, he’s not talking to you._

“Ser Warden!”

_…still doesn’t necessarily have to be you._

“Warden-Commander Cousland, Ser! Stop, please, wait!”

_Maker dammit all to the deepest pit in the void!_

“ _What?_ ” The word leaves his mouth coated in a thick layer of venom and resentment.

For his part the messenger only blanches only a little. “Ser Warden, Her Radiance wishes to speak with you.”

“About?”

“I– I wouldn’t know Ser,” the man sputters. Clearly he isn’t used to a royal summons being questioned. “I’m naught but a simple messenger.”

Elias sighs at this, but motions for him to lead the way. He goes back down the halls that he’d just managed to escape with a heavy gait. As he follows behind the boy—far enough behind so as not to be slapped by that damned oversized feather in his cap—he tries to figure out what’s so vital that Celene must speak with him not even half an hour after leaving him. By the time he reaches the waiting area outside of the council chambers he still hasn’t come up with anything.

“I will alert Her Imperial Majesty of your arrival, Warden-Commander,” the courier says before turning on his heel to do so.

Eli leans against the coolness of the brick wall and breathes deeply though his nose in an attempt to stay his irritation. The extent of his good humor has long since been passed. Years of running with the Wardens has left him ill-conditioned to deal with the foolishness of royals and their nobility, despite having once been among their ranks. There had been a time when meeting such a high ranking individual would have set his stomach to flipping, but now it only leaves him feeling sour in every sense, though he still has enough sense about him to keep this out of his countenance. He schools face and body both into something more acceptable as he focuses on other, more pleasant things. Things like the sound of his son’s laughter or the way his entire body engages in the retelling of past goings-on. He reminds him a lot of his nephew in that way—and more if he’s being honest. It’s odd; Oren looked more like his mother’s side of the family than Fergus and yet every time he looks at Kieran he can see the boy so clearly. Maybe it’s the age or maybe he’s still nostalgic over the nephew that never got to grow up, but either way it always leaves him a touch sad.

The hollow pain that ever echoes any thought of his lost family is dull when it comes and he’s quick to push it away. Instinctually he reaches out for his lady-love and is shocked to find that she’s nearer than expected. Aside from the attending guards he’s alone in the room as far as he can see, but with Morrigan one can never rely on their eyes alone. He searches the room from marble floor to gilded ceiling, in as casual a manner as possible so as not to alert the others, but sees nothing out of place.

_I know you’re there._ He laces the thought with a playful edge as he leans back against the wall once more. Laughter brushes against his mind like a warm breeze over a meadow and he finds himself physically reaching out for a body that isn’t there. _Where are you, my love?_

_**Everywhere and nowhere, as always. Why are you here, dearest, and not in my chambers where you belong?** _

_I haven’t the faintest. The Empress called for me, though I couldn’t tell you why. I only hope it’s not to tell me that she’s cancelling the tournament due to a lack of volunteers. Our recruitment efforts in Thedas can only carry us so far if another Blight breaks out elsewhere in the world. We need trained garrisons in every region._

_**You know what is said of men who work, but never play.**_ Some irritation there, but she still seems to be mostly in good spirits. _**Do you ever think about anything besides that blasted Blight?**_

_It’s hard to think of anything else. My blood hums with it. You were by my side nearly every step of the way. You saw what the hordes are capable of. We just barely contained the threat last time. If we’re through in our preparations now we can avoid catastrophe down the line._ He sighs audibly then. _I just don’t understand why we have such a hard time recruiting. People want to believe that Blights only come once an Age, but the reality is one can happen at any moment. You’d think more people would see the truth and stand vigilant._

_**Well it’s not as if you lot have the best sales pitch.** _

He chuckles under his breath. _What ever do you mean? ‘See the world! Kill darkspawn! Die thirty years later!’ I’d sign up for that._

_**Clearly.**_ The thought comes as dry and flat as day old ale. Then, _**Do you ever regret it? Throwing in with the Wardens, I mean.**_

_Honestly? Most days. But then I remember that if it wasn’t for them I wouldn’t have met you. I can bear this curse, but not having you…_ It’s a sentimental statement that the woman wouldn’t stand for if spoken aloud, but here in the intimate space of their shared thoughts she allows it. It’s easier for them to be more open, more real when spoken words aren’t there to muddy things. So when doubt colors the thought that asks him if what they have is really worth having cut his lifespan short he throws every ounce of conviction that his soul contains behind his reply. _**You** will always be worth it, love. Our dear boy, the life we’ve built for ourselves… I’d gladly walk into the void if it meant preserving that._

The feelings of love and gratitude that wash over him are almost enough to bring him to his knees. Heat rises behind his eyes as tears threaten to form and he blinks hard to keep them at bay. When he opens them again he just catches a flash of raven hair in the doorway and he follows after it, meeting be damned. As he rounds the corner he thinks she took he finds himself face to face with the woman that has forever ensnared his heart. Big arms encircle her lithe frame as he gathers her up against his chest.

“I love you, Morrigan.”

“And I you, Elias.”

It’s the first time that she’s been in his arms in over seven months and the feeling of having her warm body pressed against his is pure bliss. If there were a way to stop all of time Elias would have done it right then and there, but he’s never been anything close to magical so of course the moment is broken when a courier comes to call yet again. Before they part Morrigan leaves him with words that elect confusion:

_“Follow my lead, love.”_

He has no idea what she means by this and he busies himself with pondering it as he does his best to drown out Celene’s chatter about silks and color schemes. Why the woman thinks she needs his approval on centerpieces and the like he’ll never know—though if forced to guess he’d have to say that she likes having a fine Fereldan man like himself at her beck and call).

“Antivan fire irises? Really? A most bold choice!” The royal exclaims when he mindlessly points to one of the options she’s presented him. “I’ll put the order in at once!”

Once he’s sure that she not going to ask him anything directly, Elias allows his attention to be diverted yet again. His eyes to roam over the airy room and the crystal infused paint that covers the heavy furniture that occupies the space. The shimmering wood, combined with a now noontime sun creates a glare that is bright almost to the point of being blinding. This doesn’t seem to bother the woman or her guards in the least and Eli has to wonder if spending what adds up to weeks—possibly _months_ —underground has done something to his eyes. With the room being so bright it isn’t hard to catch the sliver of jet black that darts across the floor. The thing moves so quickly that he’s not sure if he actually saw it, but then it appears again and again until it’s not only gotten his attention, but that of a guard as well.

_Morrigan, dearest, what are you doing?_

_**Just freeing you up. Now, be a dear and catch me before that guard runs me through with that lance of his.** _

It’s with a lot of undignified screaming (that would be the Empress) and a few mumbled curses (that would be Elias and the guardsmen) that the small, black mouse is caught. Of course Celene wants the thing thrown out of the nearest window, but somehow Elias manages to talk her into allowing him to dispose of the creature in a more humane way. _You’re terrible, you know that?_ He sends the thought off as he cups his lover gently inside of his palms. When she laughs this time it’s much more mischievous; the sound is contagious as it reverberates within him.

_**I do, yes. But you love me for it, right?** _

_Because of, in spite of…_ he teases.

_**Oh har-har. You’re not funny, you know.** _

_I’m hilarious and you know it._

_**Well funnyman, could you see your way to the nearest lavatory? I find myself suddenly in need. Turns out everything is much smaller when you’re a mouse.** _

_…Well shit. But not in my hand, if you please._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I know that in game the Old God doesn’t go into the babby if he’s got the Warden for a daddy, but since I like creepy Kieran so it’s a thing in this fic…

**Author's Note:**

> I really hope that this came off as playfully as intended. I never actually finished my Morrigan-mance playthrough, so I don't actually know what type of relationship you would have with her in game. And since I'm a big fan of playfully antagonistic romances that's what we got here. Hopefully it was a mildly entertaining read.
> 
> Also Elias is a truly horrible cook. Like 'hide yo ingredients, hide yo utensils, and lock yo larders' bad. The first time he cooked for the group was also the last time. Not even Lady would touch it (and we all that that Mabari will eat _anything_ ). He thought he was getting off easy when they banned him from ever even thinking the word 'cook' again until he found out it meant that he was on dish duty indefinitely.
> 
> Also also please forgive any grammar/punctuation/general fuckery as I don't have a beta and I suck at editing.


End file.
